


Vixen

by TheEvangelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Lexa (The 100), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Desperate Clarke Griffin, Dom Lexa (The 100), Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Heda Lexa (The 100), Hucow, Knotting, Lactation, Lactation Kink, Lesbian Erotica, Lesbian Hucow, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Clarke, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sub Clarke Griffin, The 100 Femslash, dominant lexa, lesbian abo, lesbian story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: Prompt for Sky: Alpha!Lexa uses Omega!Clarke as her own personal breeding bitch and cock sleeve. Voyeurism aspect as well. Not set in the modern type world.*OR*Fertile omegas are rare on the ground, so rare in fact that they have become a coveted posession in order to continue the human race. When the sky people fall from the Heavens with an abundance of fertile omegas untouched by the affliction, Commander Lexa rides to select her pick and negotiate a treaty.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 15
Kudos: 310





	Vixen

**ABO/HUCOW/LACTATION/VOYEURISM/BREEDING/SUPER DUB-CON/NON-CON.**

The trip to the far Camp Jaha settlement could be measured in headaches and the onset of more. The commander’s horse trotted through thickets and shallows, the nothingness of nature rising up and settling down like a sigh as hills and spluttering creeks became the order of the afternoon the further they travelled from Polis where they had set out before sunrise.

Now, the citadel was nothing more than a tiny puncture in the eastern horizon. Lexa cupped her brow and turned her head west, observing a faint puff of smoke far beyond the treeline.

They were getting close.

“Heda it isn’t too late,” Titus murmured to her ear.

“To send warring men to slaughter these savages untouched by the affliction?” The commander lifted a brow at her flamekeeper.

“Heda, perhaps it is better to be strong in the eyes of your people than weak for the softness of a clean whore—”

“These travellers brought children down from the skies, dozens of them, perhaps more. In one camp there is said to be more children than all of Polis has produced in seven summers.” The commander dug the horse and began to trot forward again. “Two years and only three suitable fertile omegas have been brought from their clans to my court, all of them broken in and soft with the delirium.”

“Good, hard worked and proven cows, Heda.”

“I want not for a hard worked cow to continue my line.” The commander faced forward, surly. “A clean doe, or at the very least a proven fertile omega with some shape left to her mind. There was a time from the great before when there was no need for docile breeding cows.”

“As there was a time from the great before when there was no need for Hedas,” Titus reminded, his voice gravelled and serious. “These people are not like us. The delegation brought back reports that the omegas are battle-fairing, mix freely with their Alphas as though of equal station, so ripe with heat that it punches the air red.” The last part sat at odds with the reality they all knew.

“Then how lucky we are that they did not land in the Ice Nation territory, for then we would have no prospect of breeding cows at all.”

“And how will we divide the supposedly abundant stock?” Titus posed. “That in and of itself is a bigger threat to the unification than I believe we have ever faced.”

“If there are a hundred-and-fifty breeding females as the delegation reported.” Lexa stopped, the strangeness of that large number attached to such a precious rarity sitting stark in her mind. “Then each ambassador of the twelve will select ten to return to their lands, you will personally select twenty for Polis, and whatever is left of the stock will be delivered to the Ice Nation.”

“You will send breeding stock to the Ice Nation?”

“To not send breeding stock would be a provocation of war.”

“A provocation of war assumes we have any semblance of real peace to begin with, Heda.”

“Perhaps this is the beginning of real peace,” Lexa suggested, ducking her head beneath a low hanging branch as the shallows were cleared through. “Most of the wars these last two generations have been for nothing more than fertile omegas and fertile soil.”

“Your plans for distribution assigns twenty breeding females for Polis, but what for the courtiers and army generals?” Titus caught up to his commander, his horse cantering up beside her.

“What of them?” Lexa knitted her brow. “You think twenty females will not be enough to distribute fairly?”

At that, Titus’s face suddenly softened with confusion. It was a strange sight, and the commander did not assume it to be a positive assessment of her decision-making. She was soon proven correct. The flamekeeper chewed his back teeth and took pause, his eyes alight, but he remained quiet for a moment as though to ensure his tone was still some semblance of deferential to the absolute leader of all Alphas.

He was second of this world as far as precedent went, but she was first. Titus above all things was an ordinant man of blood law and war-forged principle. Even in this instance, when the word of the Heda was received with such infuriation that his eyes burned and his lips formed a silent snarl.

“You mean the twenty breeding females are to be _distributed_ for the Alphas of Polis, they are not to be your personal stock at court?” Titus clarified as calmly as he could.

“I will select one breeding female claimed for my personal use,” Lexa confirmed. “I will choose first, then the twenty for Polis will be selected, and then the ambassadors may draw straws or draw swords for precedence in their claims. I don’t care either way.”

“Heda I fear you weaken yourself with such acts of generosity.”

“Titus,” Lexa whispered, her eyes calm and unbothered as she looked to her flamekeeper. “I fear _nothing._ ”

***

The sound of a newborn’s mewling was as precious as it was rare.

A noise that could halt an entire market day, customers and tradesmen alike glancing around for sight of the source, bustling and bumping shoulders to see the glory of new life.

Some people for all the days of their lives perhaps only saw one or two newborns from their first to final day on earth.

All children were brought from their clanlands to court to be personally baptised and named by the commander within their first year of life. It was a task she performed perhaps two or three times a year, with never any more than eight infants in each cohort.

Forty new children in one year was a record set at the beginning of her reign, a number she had felt gloriously hopeful about at the time, as though the tides were turning and in her reign she might see a day where the population increased rather than declined. But, the following year she baptised only eleven.

The hope left as quickly as it came.

They were a dying people, she had accepted it as truth, that the only glory was to prolong the inevitable as her predecessors had prolonged it for the duration of their reigns.

As Lexa silently observed the sky people, she realised children might soon be too commonplace for her to keep up with the honorary ceremony of baptising newborns. Here, by her own eyes, there was some forty children alone scampering to and from the makeshift schoolhouse.

“They educate the omega children as they educate the Alphas?” Lexa leaned in towards Titus in their own language, her voice a tight murmur.

“And you still think we should integrate them into our civilisation?” Titus raised a brow. “That omega there,” he said, pointing at a lath girl with black hair of no more than eighteen years who sat against a tree, reading a book without shame or concern. “You think the Ice Nation would not remove her eyes for such a display?”

“I think the inconsequential whim of what the Ice Nation does with cow stock are not the concerns of a Heda.” Lexa furrowed her brow.

The smell of food danced and wafted through the air from the dining tent across the settlement. It was unlike anything the Heda had smelled before, sweet and fragrant with aromas not of the ground. To her surprise, omegas stood in line as Alphas stood in line, the precedence simply dictated by who arrived first.

“My god,” an ambassador spat quietly from behind her, equally as surprised. “Have they no shame?”

“Look,” an awestruck voice spoke up in astoundment. “That one carries life.”

The commander’s eyes shifted across with urgency, in her lifetime she had never seen an omega round with life. It was a holy, revered fairytale. A thing she perfectly understood the nature of, but the precedence of their world dictated that a sired omega was to be looked upon only by its Alpha and closest clanblood.

The girl was positively round, perhaps only a month away from birth, and yet not only did she stand in line for food, the other people waiting for theirs did not move to ensure she was fed first. It was as though the act of pregnancy was so commonplace among these sky people that it earned no grace or favour, no respect, no reverence.

“Go!” The commander barked at her group of beta hands. “See that she rests, that she wants for nothing.” It sent Indra striding forward towards the pregnant girl.

In the reality of her world, the one that she had known until this moment, if the Heda had heard accusation of an Alpha sending their pregnant omega, round with life, holy in her nature, to forage for her food and nourishment like a common worthless pig…

It was an idea too foreign for her brain to process or make sense of.

A notion that conferred translative meaning but, had the Heda not seen it with her own eyes, she would have taken such an accusation with all the seriousness of tales of talking frogs. An outward symptom of psychosis from rut fever, nothing more.

“Well you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” A sky girl drew Lexa’s attention.

She stood there, eating an apple, hair as blonde as the flesh of the fruit in her hand, her blue eyes fixed firmly as though she knew no concept of deference. When she swallowed the mouthful, her lips formed the shape of a smirk.

Lexa noticed the muck smeared on the girl’s hands, as though she had been out stalking this morning. Then, the Heda noticed the weapon sheathed on her thigh. It took her by complete surprise.

“It’s true they arm their stock,” Lexa muttered to Titus in their language, completely ignoring the girl in her own state of disbelief. “They expect the herd to protect itself from wolves? The Alphas among this clan are impotent and weak.”

“You wish to not proceed with the treaty?” Titus’s voice tinged with hope.

“We could slaughter the Alphas and simply take the breeding omegas, perhaps the clean betas too for the rutting houses,” Lexa said in her mother tongue. “I doubt we would lose a single warrior and yet we brought only twenty—”

“You assume we would be taken so easily?” The sky girl spoke up in fluent Trigedasleng, perfectly understanding the conversation. She took another bite of her apple, chewing away as though unthreatened. “The herd that can defend itself is not a herd, Heda.” Her blue eyes gleaned the Heda’s air of indifference. “It’s an army.”

Just like that, Lexa kicked her leg forward and connected the flat of her boot into the center of the girl’s chest. It sent the omega crashing backwards with a splutter. Instantaneously, the Heda jumped off her horse and took the fight to the girl. Her people knew to stand back, stand by, weapons drawn, only to intervene should the sky people move in numbers towards their commander disciplining an insubordinate cunt.

When the sky girl prone on her spine kicked towards the Heda’s chin, Lexa dodged it with a fluid motion. The omega bucked, wild, fighting, unable to connect a single blow and yet she continued to kick like a bitter mule.

Lexa expertly snatched the blade from the holster on her thigh. Then, she slapped the girl in the face with a calloused palm that didn’t pull back, striking all the way through as the sky girl’s head jerked and whipped from the humiliating smack.

As though the sky girl were expecting more combat, she dug her feet into the dirt and scurried back a short distance to clamber back up into a defensive stance.

Lexa simply turned and climbed back on her horse, satisfied that the bitch had been sufficiently disciplined, there was no need for anything beyond a hard slap to the face, a punch would entertain the idea that this mere omega was a threat requiring actual combat.

To engage in an actual fight would weaken the Heda in the eyes of her people, unless, of course, she killed the girl with her bare hands.

Lexa was not in the mood to kill a perfectly good womb today.

The commander nonchalantly handed the confiscated blade to one of her thronehands as she adjusted back in her saddle.

“Well. A fearsome army no more,” Lexa said to Titus, barely a hair out of place.

The entire delegation burst into laughter.

“And the treaty?” Titus reminded as he calmed his own laughing, still privately hopeful for a slaughtering.

Lexa paused for a moment.

“It will be honoured,” she declared.

Better to take willing wombs than risk the need to cull fertile stock, she thought.

***

There was a pensive silence in the selection tent.

The Heda sat upon her wooden throne, surrounded by twelve ambassadors in their clan chairs. The omegas were brought in ten at a time, numbered, stripped, displayed, some of them crying in shame, others stoic and silent as though it were an act of defiance as the betas turned them around, spread their cheeks, squeezed them by the jaw to show off their clean white teeth.

The braves ones obliged the humiliation, eyes cold and distant, as though their silence would be received as off-putting or threatening. All of it was observed, the ambassadors making private notes.

Those omegas would be preferential despite their attempts otherwise, the Heda found it amusing. There was nothing more prized than a quiet and obliging bitch, whether she was proven fertile or not.

When the seventh group was ushered in, betas barking them into submission, ordering for clothes to be removed and the line-up to be assumed. The commander finally locked eyes with the unruly creature she disciplined earlier, cheek still marked with pinkness, her bare slender spine on display as she pulled her shirt over her head with a sense of disregard to proceedings.

“Ice Nation fodder,” the Sandkru ambassador laughed loudly when she was dragged forward out of the line for appraisal, and all of the ambassadors seemed to drop their pencils as though she wasn’t worth the effort of notes. “A week and they will see to it that she is as harmless as a dove.”

“A dove has talons too,” the troublemaker spoke to him directly.

“Number seventy-six, you won’t be brave when your feet first blister against the frozen, jagged shale of the north.” The Sandkru ambassador leaned forward. “Do you know what they do in Azgeda to cows?”

“Spoil me,” she said plainly.

“They remove the arms and legs so they cannot escape, their eyes and tongues too if they protest or cry too much. I have seen it myself, the dark shed where they are strapped in their own filth, hosed off between knottings.” He seemed to enjoy the sudden flicker of terror in her eyes. “The Azgedakru have no use for a fertile omega beyond her womb. The rest of her… it can be simply thrown away.”

Between the other nine omegas stood in line, there was now not a single brave or stoic one among their entire rank. All of them cowered in subservient terror, eyes cast down, weeping and shaking profusely.

Suddenly, they realised there was a much worse fate than being a fertile omega for the coalition. They could always be nothing more than a slack, defenseless breeding hole for Azgedakru.

But the blonde sky girl didn’t weep or shudder, she just stood there, chin lifted high, eyes narrowed defiantly.

“My name is Clarke, not seventy-six,” she clarified. “And even if your bullshit story was true, then you assume I wouldn’t fight to the death while you dragged me there—”

“Clarke?” The Heda spoke up curiously, her lips pulling into an imperceptible smile. “Who gave you that name?”

“My mother.”

“Your mother?” It perplexed Lexa. “Your highest leaders do not name the new children?”

“Why would they? There’s too many.”

At that the Heda sat back in her throne, barely resisting the urge to laugh at the absurdity. So much abundance of new life that the sacrosanct task of naming newborns was left to the omega herself. It was unfathomable, and yet their large numbers proved it.

“Ready my horses for Polis,” Lexa spoke to Titus, who stood to the side with his hood just about covering the look of displeasure on his face. “I have no need to see anymore. You will select twenty for Polis, then the ambassadors may have their claim.”

“Do none of our omegas satisfy you?” The leader of Camp Jaha spoke up nervously, aware that the treaty predicated that the Heda would have her pick first.

“You will not question our commander, she does not answer to you.” Titus growled at him. “You expect our highest leader to sit and witness this degrading parade of untrained, boisterous stock? I will select the most docile omega for court while the commander returns to civilised—”

“No, you will not.” The Heda earned shocked looks from her people. “You will ready my horses as I order,” she sternly reminded him of his place, then glanced to the leader of Camp Jaha. “And you will ready Clarke for transport. I have no need to see more omegas, I have made my claim.”

“You’re choosing me?” Clarke’s eyes grew wide, so surprised by the declaration that it took precedence over the urge to be resistant.

“You are too feral to send to Azgeda. They would receive you as a political insult, and I cannot allow a single omega to cause a war.” The commander said plainly as she rose out of her throne, stepping forward towards the bare girl.

The handmaid moved quietly and helped the Heda with her coat. Lexa just stared her new omega in the eyes, cold, untouched, calculating and working her out.

The commander continued, “To cull you would be an affront to the divinity that sent us fertile omegas from the Heavens, yet I fear your quick mouth would soon be the death of you in any civilised clanland. I will claim you if only to make the gift of the Gods as meaningful as possible.” Lexa clipped her shoulder armour in place as a handmaiden slipped it over her jacket.

“Ah,” Clarke whispered. “So you do fear something.”

“Excuse me?” Lexa quirked her expression.

“I stalked your party as you crossed into our territory,” Clarke said plainly as though it were not a provocation of war. “You told your flamekeeper you fear nothing. Now, you fear me.” The outrageous statement earned an outburst of shocked murmurs from the ambassadors.

The Heda closed her eyes, aware that her courtiers expected her to kill the girl in order to set precedence. The commander could not shy away from such a challenge, even if it did come from the mouth of a loud-barking, otherwise harmless breeding omega.

This time Lexa did not slap Clarke, rather it was a fast, full force blow that connected from the solid base of her calloused palm.

It knocked the omega down into a crumpled, whimpering pile as though she had been struck down by God himself. There was no fighting back this time, the omega simply clutched her bruised cheek. Lexa grabbed a fistful of golden blonde hair from her crown, dragging her up and onto her feet.

“Not a single omega or beta will be culled today, not one,” The commander declared with a shaking, furious tone to her courtiers. “Their ways are strange, but their wombs are ripe and simple. Good training will come later, but we will not stare a gift horse in the mouth. See that she is ready for transport.” The commander shoved Clarke towards the leader of Camp Jaha.

“Yes Heda,” the responded in chorus, bowing their heads deferentially.

***

For her own sanity, Lexa had her newly-claimed omega tied over a horse that trotted at the very rear of the party while she cantered up at the front some distance away. The protests were loud enough to be heard once in a while, Lexa simply chewed them away on her back teeth with seething displeasure.

For hours as they rode until nightfall, until Polis finally rose up back into view, the commander trying to drone out the loud growls and hisses from her new omega.

Her guardsmen would not dare to beat or discipline what now belonged to the commander, despite the desire when she opened her crude and unruly mouth, despite the fact Lexa wasn’t so sure she would want to reprimand it if they did beat some submission into her personal cow.

Lexa suddenly felt that cow was the wrong word despite the fact she didn’t have any other words within her vernacular.

The word cow defined a certain type of omega: a claimed womb that belonged to a clan rather than an individual, docile, submissive, a proven breeding bitch with slack well-used holes and a surplus of milk that didn’t dry before she was soon bred again.

A cow was not a person in any objective sense of the word, she was a precious rarity, a well kept creature far above any prized horse, but the lack of fertile omegas meant that cows were raised with the sole intention of breeding and continuing bloodlines. Her brain soft with delirium, her body soft from her purpose, a good cow was beloved but she was not a person.

The only people with exclusively-claimed fertile omegas were Hedas and perhaps a single revered warrior once every generation. It was the highest honour among all clan cultures, or at least it was before the affliction meant even that was too grand a luxury.

Lexa felt that if the leaders of Camp Jaha were telling the truth—that there were a thousand more fertile omegas waiting to come down from the stars—then the need for cows altogether would soon be redundant.

“Heda,” her guardsmen said, digging his horse to trot at her side. “The prison cells are not equipped for an omega, we don’t have a segregated facility to keep your cow away from the Alpha population.”

“My vixen,” Lexa instinctively corrected. She paused for a moment, then turned to look at him with a sense of dourness. “She has not proven herself fertile, she has reared no new life, she is feral and cow is too reverent of a word for her. She is a vixen, as are all the other sky omegas.”

“Yes Heda,” he obliged. “And the matter of her holding area?”

At that the commander dug the stirrups and halted her stallion, pulling to the side of the path as her party slowly passed on tired trotting horses. They went by for minutes until the growls became louder, more distinct to the ear, and then Clarke came into view. She was slumped her horse, belly sideways over its back, her hands and feet tied-up in such a way that she couldn’t cause problems during transit.

“Clarke.” The omega’s neck pulled back on the utterance of her name, peering up hatefully at the Heda. “Are you going to be a good girl—” Lexa snapped her head to the side and halted in total shock, feeling the glob drip down her cheek.

“Did she just spit at you, Heda?” The guardsmen drew his blade.

A sense of ordinant, clinical calm washed over the commander. Lexa turned back with a blank expression and wiped the spit off her face.

“I have fought on through rivers of my own blood, the Ice Nation have done far worse to me.” She refused to rise to the bait. “Take her to the healers and have them administer nightshade tea, then adequately restrain her in my quarters. I don’t believe she won’t spit after that.” The Heda pushed a small, tight smile.

“Nightshade tea?” Clarke was unfamiliar.

“It induces heat with such intensity that the delirium will last a fortnight,” Lexa indulged an explanation. “Of course, provocations cannot go unresponded. You will be slick, and desperate, and crave for my touch, and you will not be indulged until I decide that it is earned.”

“I would rather go to Azgeda than I would be your bed whore!” Clarke hissed.

“As you may well do yet, though you will be no bed whore. I have no interest in fucking anything other than a desperate, begging, proven good girl.” The Heda remained unperturbed. “If she refuses the tea willingly then have the healers administer it with an enema, as many as necessary, and have every guardsmen there to watch.” Lexa knew exactly what she was doing. “To ensure the healer’s safety, of course.” She pulled at the reigns and moved off.

***

Clarke weakly shivered on the fur throws she had been restrained naked and spread eagle over.

To lift her slumping head off the pillow was more effort than she could currently conjure. She remembered the healer’s room, it felt foggy and distant now but yet it had happened mere hours ago, her dripping emptied bottom still a source of burning humiliation.

She had spat the bitter cold tea out as fast as it had been forced inside her mouth. True to the Heda’s word, despite the fact Clarke didn’t think it was a serious threat, the guardsmen turned her sweating body over and held her down, holding her pried cheeks open for the healer.

The healer forced the brew inside a different hole altogether, the cool metal of a slender siphon penetrating her first and then the stinging rush of liquid. Clarke pushed it out with clenching, tearing eyes. It was met with a chorus of laughter and amusement, too much to be from the healer and two guardsmen attached either side of her, and Clarke learned the hard way around just how serious the word of the commander should be taken.

“Good girl, don’t push it out,” the healer crooned and rubbed her sobbing spine as her belly flooded and swelled.

The guardsmen laughed every time she pushed some of it out with a desperate pathetic splutter, and that only made Clarke hold it despite herself, despite more of it rushing into her belly than she felt she could contain.

The healer pressed into the small of her spine and forced more inside. “No more pain, no more responsibility to your people, leave those burdens in your last life,” she said as though it were a comfort.

The words rang in Clarke’s ear as the shivering, awful sweat consumed her body whole. The cool air from the open balcony doors licked her damp skin, which made her shiver harder. When she closed her eyes for a brief moment, she opened them again to the brightest skies outside and streaming daylight.

The delirium was making her lose track of time.

“Are you going to be a good girl and eat?” A familiar voice said somewhat softly.

Clarke’s lazy eyes were forced to work, she glanced around deliriously until her stare fell on the woman perched on the bed beside her. The Heda wasn’t wearing her long red war colours this time, she sat with her undershirt rolled up her forearms and a bowl of fruit in her lap. Clarke noticed that she was clean too, her dark smeared makeup washed away from her light green eyes.

She looked pretty, Clarke thought.

“I don’t want to be some docile, mindless, pathetic animal,” Clarke mumbled dumbly and closed her eyes again.

“Nor do I want that, little wild thing.” The Heda faintly slipped her rough fingertips along her spine. “But, provocations must have consequences, and you must learn a minimal amount of obedience.”

The sensation of fingertips against her skin made Clarke’s body flood with an acute, desperate craving for more. It didn’t make sense. Her little insular world was foggy and delirious, unfocused and no longer dictated by her hatred for her predicament.

“More,” Clarke whispered with tearful gravel in her voice, twisting uncomfortably when fingertips lifted from the bottom of her back. “Rub my back again,” she demanded, tone quivering.

“No, Clarke.” The Heda was stern but not cruel. “Two days and you haven’t eaten yet, line your stomach first and then I will pet you.”

The thought of being pet made her feel like a domesticated little animal.

“No,” Clarke growled.

“Fine,” the commander said nonchalantly as though she expected as much, then she rose off the bed. “I will be back later tonight, keep this until then so you don’t forget what and who you are, now.” A worn jacket was pushed under her head like a pillow of sorts.

***

Everything hurt and yet there were no injuries, not even a single tiny bruise beyond her marked cheek.

Clarke wept and felt her body sting as though her skin were on fire, every movement leaving her sore muscles angry and aching, yet she couldn’t stop herself from shivering.

Clarke faintly caught sight of the roaring well-packed fireplace, aware of the thick heat pulsing the room and yet somehow immune to it. It was the only source of light now night had fallen, though she remembered little of that time, as though it had passed right over.

The only comfort was the smell that flooded her lungs when she buried and nuzzled into the pillow beneath her. She wanted to clutch it, hold it, grind against it and melt into pleasure. Her wrists and ankles could only move so far with the small amount of slackness she had been afforded from the bed posts.

Clarke buried her face, her nose, her open mouth, inhaling the smell of the jacket with quickening breaths.

“You’re okay, you’re alright, just breathe,” the commander’s calm voice crooned slightly. “Will you eat yet?” There was a fresh bowl of fruit in her hand.

Clarke felt a sense of comfort and safety wash over her.

“Please,” Clarke said, her voice hoarse.

“Please Heda,” the commander insisted, holding a piece of fruit between her fingers. “We are not on a first name basis until you show me some improvement in your disposition.”

“Please Heda, I’ll eat now,” Clarke relented softly, her body trembling and unsure of itself now there was no ego to hide behind.

Clarke still felt indignant, but she was hungry, and pride would not feed her empty belly.

“Good girl,” the commander praised, feeding and allowing some respite.

Clarke gently ate the fruit every time a piece came to her lips on the Alpha’s fingertips, sipping the water politely, she calmed herself and then allowed the Heda to stroke her spine without resistance or pushback. The feeling of the commander’s bare fingertips was unparalleled. Clarke buried her face into the scent of the jacket, satiated and yet desperate for more.

When she looked back up at the Heda, that was when she finally took stock of her features.

She was _beautiful_.

Her jaw was slender and defined, and without the dark smeared makeup, her light green eyes seemed to hold a certain amount of softness despite her unyielding disposition. Clarke noticed the intricate braids, how they packed tightly and kept her hair off her face before somehow melting into soft curls that went the length of her back.

The omega glanced to her arms, strong biceps, taut, tight, defined and not pulled back to strike her this time. The commander simply trailed her fingertips gently, lips pursed, appraising the omega as she was appraised in turn.

“Touch me harder,” Clarke wept and tried to lift her spine up, desperate for the pressure of solid contact. Each time she bucked, the Heda danced her fingers away as though it were a punishment. “Please stop it!” Clarke finally broke into a sob. “Please, I want to be touched and held and stroked and all of it! Please make it stop!”

“Be quiet, be a good girl,” the commander instructed softly, suddenly making her tame with nothing more than the gentlest pressure of her fingertips. “Clarke, if you ever spit at me again I will keep you exactly as you are now, delirious, lost in your heat, desperate for things I will not give you.”

“I’ll never do it again, Heda,” Clarke promised with hiccuping sobs. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll behave—”

“Good girl, just slow down, just let it go,” the commander hushed and climbed on the bed, reaching over to unfasten the wrist restraints. “If you try to strike me then I will not fight you back, Clarke, I will simply put these back on and have the healer bring more nightshade.”

“I won’t, I’ll be good, I promise,” Clarke said hurriedly.

The commander gently brought her wrists back in towards her body, then she shuffled down and did the same with her ankles. When her limbs were free, the Heda rolled her over on to her side and slipped behind her spine.

Clarke felt as though she couldn’t control her quickening breaths, but the delirium almost seemed to lift when the Heda was pressed against her. It was as though she could finally see in colour, feel out the sensations of her body with some sense of precision. Her wrists and ankles ached, but it was nothing compared to the soreness in her breasts.

“Who do you belong to, Clarke?” Calloused fingers slipped around her ribcage, a palm kneading her sore breast while the commander’s thumb rubbed her nipple. “I’m offering you some relief, and yet you offer me silence?”

With gritted teeth, Clarke didn’t know how to say it despite craving for the relief that would follow. She felt she couldn’t let herself say it. She had witnessed and heard things on her scouting trips, saw the way the grounders treated their claimed omegas like little pets, affectionate, yet never on equal terms.

Then, she found out what they did to their fertile omegas; how the clansmen used them communally, in succession, knotted and bred them until a pregnancy finally took, until so many pregnancies took that they were mindless and soft-brained from the delirium of heat like dripping desperate animals.

“Clarke,” the Heda reminded softly, her thumb coming away from her nipple. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” Clarke’s voice shook with fright.

“Don’t be scared.” The commander was so soft in the way she said it, tender, and yet with a distinct gravel that remained to her voice. “To be mine is to be safe, you will be so well taken care of, so protected, and so loved, in time.”

“You sent ten of my people’s omegas to the Ice Nation,” Clarke’s voice shook with fury as she remembered. “You sent them, knowing what Azgeda do the omegas—”

“Those are rumours,” the commander reassured. “Azgeda are secret about their practices and they do not welcome foreign dignitaries into their territory, nobody knows what they do with their breeding omegas.”

“But the Sandkru ambassador said those awful things.”

“The Sandkru ambassador knows only sand and the word of drunken men who know only their clan dirt too. He has never been to Azgeda clanlands, nobody has.”

Almost imperceptible from the damp sheen of sweat that glazed her entire body, Clarke barely felt the slickness on her breasts. But the commander kneaded and rubbed, swept her thumb with a rewarding sense of pressure, and Clarke glanced down and noticed the beading milk.

“Why.” Her body became tight and still. “How is that…”

“The nightshade tea,” the commander reassured and squeezed some relief into her tender breast. “Poor little thing, you must ache so deeply.” She pressed her lips against the bare flat of Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke closed her eyes and stifled a whimper.

“Please fuck me?” Clarke murmured, embarrassed.

“I have beta whores far more proficient than you to offer me that relief with their mouths, for now at least.” The commander drew another bead of milk. “You have not been completely absolved or forgiven, not yet, little wild thing.”

“Will you tell me your name?”

“To extend you my name means that I expect you to try very hard in your obedience.”

“I will,” Clarke mumbled instinctively.

“Lexa,” she said softly. “So tell me, Clarke kom Skaikru, who do you belong to?”

“The Heda,” Clarke whispered in calm concession. “I belong to you, Lexa.”

***

A dignitary meeting in the far southern lands towards the ocean border had taken Lexa away from Polis for four days and nights. The rules were clear and defined as such, Clarke would enjoy a certain amount of freedom around the tower and out into the citadel to explore and learn if she felt up to it, providing she was accompanied by her newly assigned personal guard.

If she acted in a way that reflected poorly on the commander, then she was to be confined to quarters and administered the nightshade tea.

On the ride back into the outskirts of Polis, Lexa felt privately optimistic. It had been a month since she had claimed her little wildling, her obedience left room for improvement, but her effort was noticeable to all but Titus.

“You weaken yourself by elevating such a disgusting unruly whore,” he had uttered only once when he caught sight of her politely greeting a foreign ambassador, shocked that the Heda’s omega would speak to another Alpha without the presence of the commander herself.

He would now never dare to utter such a thing again.

“She is your queen, for all intents and purposes,” Lexa had warned him sternly in earshot of others. “And if you continue to speak of her in degrading terms, if you degrade _me_ with such insolence and disrespect, I will have you stripped and sent through the streets as cunt stock for the rut rooms.” Her glare left no room for question.

Lexa entered her private quarters with a firm stride, only relaxing in her disposition once the doors to the outside world were closed. The sight that greeted her was disappointing, but there would be time for questions afterwards. Lexa unclipped her shoulder armour and removed her coat.

“Heda,” Clarke wept and looked up on the sound, flushed and sweating.

“Oh dear.” Lexa lifted her brow.

The naked omega clambered off the bed and pushed forward on wobbling legs, when her hands found the commander’s body, she moved quickly for the button on her trousers and unbuttoned them shakily, desperate, her fingers coming back to the zipper every time the Heda gently brought them away.

There would be time for questions later, Lexa thought.

Grimey from the ride home, Clarke cared little about it. She kneeled, her mouth latching the end of her Alpha’s cock and sucking it instantly hard. It made Lexa hiss, but then a soft palm slipped up beneath her shirt and rubbed her belly as though to sooth.

Clarke’s head pressed all the way down, devouring and servicing as best as she could, until her nose dug into a neat patch of pubic hair, until her throat was made entirely useful.

Lexa gathered and grabbed her blonde hair up into a fistful, pressing her thick cock as deep as she could when the orgasm struck. Whatever Clarke had done to earn her punishment, it would no doubt leave the Heda furious, and almost in a pre-state of anger about it, Lexa fucked her pliant throat and buried her spurting cock as deep inside her gagging jaw as she could.

“What did you do?” Lexa glared sternly as she pushed the little wild thing backwards off her cock.

“I didn’t do anything,” Clarke seemed confused.

“They gave you the nightshade for a reason.”

“What nightshade?”

“Oh.” Lexa suddenly didn’t know what to do with her anger.

***

There was a distinct lack of softness in her ministrations, not because it was punishment, simply because Clarke did not need for it.

The omega understood her place, her privilege, the fondness she had over the Heda’s heart. To be claimed for the first time gently would be counterintuitive. She was the Commander’s omega, and there was a sense of pride in that now.

Lexa forced her legs backwards and clambered on top of her, both of them naked, sweating, growling and grabbing at the other. The Heda craned her neck down and captured a nipple between her teeth, sucking as hard as she could until the faintest sweetness of milk touched her tongue.

Then she pushed inside with a fast, solid, hard thrust that sunk her hips instantly.

This was not about pleasure or pretense, the commander was in rut, and her mind was consumed with one thing — breeding and ensuring her line.

Lexa slammed her hips fast and hard, grinding them, burying herself, fucking the panting girl she pinned and pressed to the bed with fingers clamped around her face and jaw. The Heda fucked her like she was a wild animal to be captured and claimed, fucking her entire length so fast and hard that it touched the back of her cervix every time.

“Please, please, please,” Clarke wailed for more, her toes nearly touching the headboard as her hips were made to fold over her body.

The Heda obliged and slapped her face.

It wasn’t a punishment this time, it was a strike for the sake of a strike, because the aggression came naturally, as though to simply remind Clarke of her place. The omega brought her pink face back, eyes glazed, choking tight cunt walls clenching on Lexa’s cock.

“More Heda,” Clarke begged, throat husking and voice desperate.

The commander pressed as deep and hard as she could, groaning and whimpering when her seed spurted and glugged. She held the omega’s position just so, her hips at the perfect angle, a tightly clamped hand keeping her head buried back into the pillow, cupping her mouth.

Lexa felt her knot begin to swell. She knew Clarke could feel it too, her eyes growing wider and softer as she shivered and came again. The omega panted, wailed, no doubt cried for more, but the commander simply pressed her palm harder into her lips and stifled all of it.

“Mine,” Lexa growled and rocked her knot back and forth.

***

The war tent had been setup far beyond the fields were blood would be spilled. A provocation from the distant water clans against the Sandkru required quelling, and if political talks would not solve these matters, then Lexa would finish it with blood.

“Heda,” the delegation leader entered the tent. “The water clan marches with war colours, not white.”

At the foot of the throne, Clarke listened but concerned herself only with her small responsibilities. She bobbed her head, sucking, licking, taking Lexa deep into her dripping mouth and throat. Whenever she felt the Heda’s hips begin to flex, the sound of her breathing deepening, Clarke would bring her mouth away and kiss around her hips, stroke her thighs, edge her into a furious frenzy just in case today was a war for blood.

“Sound the horn,” Lexa growled, her lips forming a precarious snarl.

When he left, she looked down expectantly at her omega, barely holding back her pent up anger.

“When you come home,” Clarke promised and pulled her mouth back from her cock.

“Clarke, do as you’re told and—”

“When you come home.” Clarke leaned up and cupped her jaw where the black paint had dripped down, then her cheek. “You come home to me. Then, you can have what you want.”

“Wild little thing,” Lexa growled as though repulsed.

Clarke knew she was anything but.

“You’re coming home,” she reassured herself more than anything.

Lexa caught her wrist as she stood from her throne, buttoning herself up with her other hand.

“I am coming home,” she said softly, her expression blank as though it were obvious.

***

The fire crackled outside, the laughter of warring men who had lived another day puncturing the air despite the late hour. Clarke wandered around the encampment, enjoying the sound of it, grateful her Alpha had came home, sorrowful for the weeping omegas who’s didn’t.

When she appeared back at the core of the festivities, watching from a distance, the soldiers jeered at the sight of Clarke as the Heda spotted her and rose from her throne, face still covered in black paint and the smeared blood of warring dead.

Clarke just smiled and nodded her head towards their tent, aware the commander would follow and put her to good use for the rest of the evening.

***

The rage of summer was nothing compared to the heat of Lexa’s sweating body resting on her spine.

Clarke stayed on all fours, panting, grateful for the breeze that blew through the balcony and cooled her damp skin. The Heda pounded her hard, the thickness of her cock ramming violently. Clarke dug out her position and held it, crying out, sore, desperate for more and yet unsure of how much she could take. Her cunt would be aching and sore tomorrow, and Clarke didn’t care in the slightest.

“I love you,” Clarke murmured desperately, her eyes glazing as the wonderful glittering feeling of another orgasm consumed her from the inside out.

“I love you,” Lexa muttered against the back of her neck as she buried deep, spurting and satiated. “Be back in two hours, you’re unrequired until then. Perhaps you might draw me another picture?” The Heda withdrew her cock before it could knot her slippery little hole.

“You like my pictures?” Clarke smiled over her shoulder.

“I love them.” Lexa promised, pecking her temple. “I love you. Go, do something wild, be back in two hours.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

***

Her milk slowly came in, and Clarke didn’t feel embarrassed about it. She was growing rounder, her belly protruding, and she enjoyed the constant wonderment in Lexa’s eyes at these developments.

She had come to understand it was uncustomary for a pregnant omega to receive visitors or enter communal spaces, but as though the sky people had brought an entire spring of new ways along with their ability to bear bloodlines, these ways were becoming outdated. The Heda brought her to meetings and ordinance, proud to show her off, proud of her own virility.

“Including your vixen,” the official keeper tallied the numbers a year had brought. “A hundred and thirty newborns, exactly.” He smiled.

“Sandkru have the most,” the ambassador hollered.

“We have the most,” Trikru boasted excitedly.

“I do,” Lexa mouthed at her girl. “I have the most.”

***

In bed, the ministrations were far more gentle and yet they still made her sore.

“Ah!” Clarke winced when the Heda settled and took her nipple, hard. “Please be gentle, please—”

The commander gently cupped her lips and sucked her nipple as hard as she felt she wanted to, tongue lashing, coaxing it out despite the protests. As though to reward her for being good, her calloused hand other hand slipped down her swollen belly towards the place Clarke loved to be touched the most.

“Lexa it hurts,” Clarke whimpered softly.

“That is your burden,” the Heda shrugged slightly, murmuring as she kissed and moved to the other. “As I bear wars and the governance of violence, you bear this.” It was made perfectly clear, her mouth latching and sucking milk from the other nipple.

The words turned her on beyond reason.

***

Lexa stared in utter astoundment as the healer wiped and swaddled.

“There’s two.” She blinked, flexing her jaw back and forth to hold off any display of discernible emotion.

“Twins,” the healer explained. “The first set I’ve ever seen. The last recorded twins were…” She came undone, thinking and unable to recall. “Before our lifetimes, perhaps even before our mothers.”

“Twins,” Lexa nodded quietly.

She moved from the nursery back into the bedroom where other healers tended to her omega. Clarke was in bad shape, she was alright now, but there had been no precedence for this. The first came, and yet Clarke still pushed, still sobbed and wailed, and then there was a second.

It was as surprising to the healers as it was to the commander.

“Good girl,” Lexa whispered proudly, kissing her temple and moving blonde hair off her sweating brow. “They are beautiful,” she grinned.

“Everything hurts,” Clarke murmured tiredly.

“I bear wars, you bear this.” Lexa was no longer so certain she had the worst end of the deal.

***

“Lexa—” Clarke pushed on her shoulders and wrangled, if only because she wanted the fight, wanted to be beaten at it, wanted to be held down and used however the Heda saw fit.

A month postnatal, and she craved for the measured violence of their lovemaking that had otherwise been tamed and softened while she healed.

“What do you want, little wild thing?” Lexa crooned with a tight smile.

“Slap me, please, make me hurt, make me full—”

Responsively, Lexa slapped her face and held her down by the jaw, thumb digging into pressure points that Clarke didn’t know could be hurt so deeply. She fought back, kicking, wrangling, slapping on the Alpha until she got what she needed.

“Do you require the healer to bring nightshade, Heda?” A personal attendant spoke up from the bedroom door, blank faced, there if only because the commander ordered constant assistance for her omega.

Clarke was to want for nothing.

“No,” Lexa growled over her shoulder as she pinned her topless omega.

Lexa took her by the throat and pressed her to the pillows, hard enough to make Clarke’s eyes water, hard enough to halt her breathing. Clarke gasped uselessly, slapping at the strong taut bicep, thrashing beneath the grip, but Lexa just craned down and took her nipple with teeth and forceful pressure.

She sucked as hard as she could, drawing a spurt of milk into her mouth, not willing to release until she had her fill. Clarke sobbed and grew red-faced, fighting as hard as she could until the lack of oxygen sent her slack and dazed, Lexa softened her grasp enough to allow her a few desperate gulps.

Then, she choked and held her again.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured with a rasp, trying desperately to knee her Alpha hard. “I love this, thank you, please,” she gasped with tears when teeth nipped at her sensitive nipple.

“Be a good girl,” Lexa warned.

“No,” Clarke whispered, breathless and smirking.

The Heda smiled in amusement at that.

“Okay then,” Lexa couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t.”

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